Lupin
by skabs
Summary: This is just a bunch of snapshots of Remus's life- from when he was bitten to when the others join him as animagus... gosh I hope I spelled that right... thanks to iluvchocs, who informed me that it was spelled incorrectly.


once again i find myself awake in the wee hours of the morning... it's six forty-one am, do you know where your kids are? and i pump this out just because i had the stray image of remus stuck in a cage at age sevin. he looked really sad to me. and this is what came of it... enjoy.

Harry Potter and all affiliates do not belong to me.

* * *

He burned his finger one time, on the stove, which mommy told him not to touch, but he did it anyway. He fell out of a tree once, which his daddy told him not to climb, and broke his ankle when he landed. That pain, which he remembered from long ago, in his mind, was a small and nagging bruise. It was a bee sting. It was a paper cut, compared to this. Daddy told him to stay in his room.

The blood leaked from the jagged wounds, scolding hot against too cold skin. His shoulder wasn't letting his arm move to grasp the pain, to hold the blood in. Every time he tried to call out in agony, his breath was stolen away by the pain. So he held himself to short pants, tiny wisps of the curdling scream he wanted to let loose. Daddy made him promise to stay in his room.

Then he heard it, that long mournful sound again. But this time he didn't have a need to know what it was. This time he didn't sneak from his room, to find the animal that had to be hurt to make such a lonely wail. He was already out of his room. No, this time he tried to curl in on himself, to make himself smaller. Smaller than the steady river of red that pooled at his feet.

They cried a lot. When she found him she started crying, but quickly started a chant. She had to find out what was wrong with him, before she could heal… as if it wasn't obvious. But once they had closed the claw and bite marks, and popped his shoulder back into it's socket, given him potions to help with the blood loss and pain, they tucked him into bed and cried.

* * *

His mother would never stop. She would try to clean the iron bars, sweep the concrete floor, set down pillows and soft blankets so he couldn't hurt himself thrashing around. She would do this every month, and every month he would look into the cage and sigh. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the effort involved, the care it took to at least try to make a monster comfortable. But it was like putting a piranha into a gold aquarium. Once he changed he never noticed, he never cared, and the effort that had been expended might as well have never happened. He would bite himself and bleed all over the soft cushions, tear them apart in his rage at being trapped behind the bars, claw at the clean concrete and brick walls, then howl his disappointment at the ceiling. He kind of wished he had a window so he could at least look at the moon in his altered state, he had a theory that it might calm him down. But he knew that a window, no matter how heavily warded, was a weak point the wolf would take advantage of.

And they couldn't afford weak points. No one must know that he was infected. No one else knew, they never could.

* * *

He lifted his head from the scattering of feathers on the floor, groaning as his strained muscles protested. He accepted the potion his mother handed through the bars and drank it down with a grimace. The pain relief potion tasted nasty, as most potions did, but this one would help him get to his feet long enough to find his bed. The concrete was cold on his bare back, and as before, when he stood, he became aware of the various wounds he'd inflicted on himself when he changed. There was a long gash on his thigh, a few bite marks on his arms, almost scabbed over now, but he knew his mother had to clean them before she could heal them completely. He hissed as she applied the cleaning solution she'd made specifically for him, bathing his scratches carefully as he sat on the cot she'd set up across the basement. She or his father always slept there on the full moons, watching him, just in case. When he was cleaned and his wounds healed she'd handed him a pair of sweatpants and took his hand to help him up. When he was younger she would just scoop him up into her arms, and though he was still small enough, even at nine years old, for her to carry, she accepted that he thought himself too old for that now. Even though he still accepted the close hugs she imparted on him randomly through the day. He would never be too old for that physical contact, or at least she hoped he never would.

* * *

His father was sitting next to his bed, in a large comfy chair they kept for that purpose, his chin on his chest, snoring lightly. He studied his father and smiled to himself. He had inherited that lanky frame, the slightly large nose, and the sharp hazel eyes that smiled at him as he woke up. The long hand that covered his above the blankets gripped lightly as he bent over to kiss his sons forehead and muttered something about soup. He nodded in response, finally hungry and able to keep something down. If he had tried to eat right after the transformation he'd have thrown it all up, but a few hours and a nice nap later and he was feeling settled enough to try. In fact, his stomach was almost eating his spine, he was so hungry now.

After lunch he picked a book to read and curled into his father's comfy chair, which he dragged across the floor and set in front of his window. He overlooked the backyard, and when he looked up from his book he could watch his mother fiddling around with her rose bushes the muggle way. It never failed to fascinate him, what could be done magically as well as without a wand, and though he'd had spurts of accidental magic he was still unsettled as to whether or not he'd go to school for it. The only schools for magic were boarding schools. And he doubted they'd be so understanding, that a student would have to disappear for a few days every month, with no explanation or excuse available. Maybe he could say he had a sick aunt? No one would believe that for seven years. He scoffed, and then determinedly buried his nose in the book.

* * *

"We'll have to tell Professor Dumbledore…" His mother was saying as he looked over the letter he'd just received from a beautiful barn owl. It had nibbled his hair before launching itself away again.

"But…" his father was protesting, insisting that she could train him, that they could never hide his transformations.

"Dumbledore will protect him, he is a great man, you know it as well as I do."

* * *

He was sitting on the Hogwarts Express, shaking slightly, all by himself. He jumped as the door slammed open and a taller boy with long black hair pulled back with an ornate silver clasp shoved a large trunk through the door.

"Hey, you don't mind? Right? Right, good show," not waiting for a response, or perhaps just recognizing that Remus was too shy to answer yet. His eyes were gray, friendly as his hand as he reached across the trunk and seized Remus's.

"Name's Black, Sirius." He paused for a second, as if waiting in heavy anticipation for a question. When nothing emerged from Remus's mouth he sighed heavily and shook his head before turning to shove his trunk above the seats. He stumbled a bit, but regained his balance as Remus stood on his seat to help with the weight. "Thanks mate."

"Remus," he stated, and then jumped as if startled to hear his own voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, holding out a hand, "Remus Lupin, at your service, Black."

"Name's Sirius," he replied with an infectious grin.

"Seriously?"

"Yep, Serious as the day I was born," then that heavy silence again, until Remus started laughing.

"There we go! You do have a sense of humor! Thank the littlest gods." He muttered, wondering why it sounded like the boy didn't know how to laugh. He finished securing his trunk and brushed imaginary dust off his black slacks and shiny gray shirt. "I hate this stupid shirt…" he muttered as he collapsed in the seat opposite Remus.

"Then why did you wear it?" Remus wished he looked so regal, but the simple blue jeans and white button-up were at least clean and pressed, thanks to his mother.

"Gray does nothing for gray eyes; I look like a death shroud! It should be a brilliant blue, or a deep green, or, oh I don't know, anything but gray! My mother has no fashion sense."

"Maybe…" Remus turned to his travel bag and pulled out a charms book, "I've been reading up on it, we may be able to pull off a color charm?"

"You really think so?" Serious quickly changed his seat so he could look over Remus's shoulder as he flipped to the right page. "This isn't a book on the list," he commented, leaning over to read the spine.

"I got curious while in the book store. My mother allowed me a few extras," he admitted. "Here it is!" he set the book down and removed his wand from its carrying case. A little nervous he jumped when the door, once again, burst open.

"Sirius! You moron! Help me out here!" Another black haired boy was entering the compartment, all Remus could see of him was his back and shaggy cap of hair.

"Sorry James, shove over!" Sirius jumped from his seat and grabbed at the trunk, lifting it, again with the help of Remus steadying from above, and shooting it into place beside his own. As the other boy turned Remus smiled hello and noted the hazel eyes behind round framed glasses, and an almost manic grin.

"Well Sirius, finally able to cause some trouble without your mother or mine screaming every few minutes!" He held out a hand and clasped Sirius's as if making a deal. Then he turned to Remus and offered his hand, "James Potter, pleased to meet you, thanks for the help, and what the hell were you just doing?"

As Remus blinked, still two statements behind, Sirius took over. "He's Remus Lupin and he's going to help me with my shirt."

"That's nice of you," James finished shaking his hand and took the seat across from Sirius and Remus.

"He seemed rather upset," Remus managed.

"Yes, yes, he would be, worse than a peacock this one."

"Hey! I'll have you know peacocks are incredibly jealous of my fine features and physique." Sirius lifted his fist, showing off a skinny arm as if he were the finest body-builder.

"Of course, moron, of course," James scoffed as he slouched. He waved his arm imperiously, "You might as well just do it, it'll be the only thing to shut him up."

"Do-?" Remus blinked, again, a little confused, and then looked down to the book in his lap. "Oh! Right… hold on…"

* * *

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat proudly screamed as Sirius froze the light blue shirt he wore faded back to gray. Remus looked over at James, who had frozen in shock as well.

"Why…?" he asked, James, who had gotten used to Remus's half asked questions on the train, just shook his head and looked over at the Slytherin table, where several older students were frozen as well.

"His entire family for generations has been snakes," James whispered. "This is going to be big." The rest of the room seemed to wake up suddenly, and the Gryffindor table started clapping and greeting Sirius to their group.

Too soon it was Remus's turn. As he sat on the stool and the hat was lowered on his head he could almost hear the wolf in him growling at the intrusion.

_Hmmm… my first werewolf… I'm sure that you'd agree with me, you have no ambitions really besides living without fear of a silver stake through your heart… you're intelligent, but you don't live for books, and you've got nothing that you are loyal to but those who've loved you… but you've come here, despite your predicament… stubborn, a need to be other than what you've been forced to… the only place for you, much like that young Black…_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

Remus sat on his bed and watched as James and Sirius started distributing their things around their own beds. Already at home, they seemed, they kept up a constant stream of nonsensical chatter. Peter, the other Gryffindor, was a little pudgy thing with dirty blond hair and a pointy nose that he kept sniffing and wiping as if he had allergies. He was carefully moving things from trunk to wardrobe, as if afraid the slightest wrong move meant disaster.

Remus just sat, his things still in the trunk, waiting for the summons he was sure he would be getting.

It was all a terrible mistake, they would say, quite sorry you had to come all the way here, but we've decided that we can't have a werewolf in our school. He was so resigned that he didn't even notice the floating head in front of his face until James said something.

"Why aren't you unpacking?"

Remus blinked and shrugged.

"Why don't you talk much?"

"I do-"

"No you don't…"

"Maybe he would if you could stop interrupting him James." Sirius chuckled.

"I don't always interrupt him," James insisted.

And that brought on another round of nonsensical ramblings and tossing possessions into random places. A shoe landed under Remus's bed the moment the long awaited knock materialized.

* * *

"I just have to go away for a couple of days…"

"Is ev-everything o-okay?" Peter was getting better with his stutter. James was making the poor kid talk at every opportunity. Remus felt kind of bad for the guy, but at least James wasn't making him talk anymore. No, once Remus turned all his shirts pink, he'd stopped nagging all the time. He'd congratulated his roommate and declared that all he was searching for was a backbone, and with a sharp slap on the back went off to bug Peter. Sirius had just laughed and told him that nothing bothered James like the waste of an intellect. Then he winced as James's laughter pierced the common room and Peter blushed beet red. Any intellect.

But now the attention was on Remus.

"My family is fine, it's just that my aunt has a medical condition that makes her think she's going to die all the time. And I HAVE to be there just in case she does. I'm the only member of the family that she likes and she is going to leave the entire "family fortune" to a bio-dome in California if I'm not there when she croaks. Needless to say my entire family makes it a point to summon me whenever she feels the "cold hand of death" on her throat." He lied with ease, he'd been practicing for this all summer.

* * *

"I'm fine to go to class James; I've missed the last three days because of this bloody cold…"

"Flu," Sirius muttered.

"What was that?"

"Last month you had a cold. This month it was the flu," Peter said from behind his charms text.

"I- I'm just sick of being sick! I'm sick of you all hovering around me like I can't take care of myself! Now leave me alone, all of you, I'm going to class!" Pushing past James, who was blocking the door as if letting Remus leave would instigate hell on earth, he realized that the shaking in his shoulders wasn't just side effect from the transformation. After two years of living in the same room… they had to know.

* * *

He sat in the house, magically barricaded so he couldn't leave, dusty and broken apart like an old horror movie reject, though the house itself was less than three years old. The furniture had been nice before his transformations started. Now they were less than kindling, except for the nest he'd made upstairs. For some reason the werewolf had shoved all the soft cushions around the mess he'd made of the mattress and bed hangings. And sometimes, the werewolf would be quiet and lay down there, watching the moon from the wreckage, through the dusty tall windows. Sometimes he would even fall asleep.

Sometimes didn't include this night. Something was in the passage way, the one that he'd tried to follow to its end, only to be beaten back by those horrible branches. Something was scritch-scratching it's way up the passage, toward his house, toward his nest…

The smell in his nostrils was of dust, old dust and suddenly a breeze from the passageway and the scent of musty rat. Nothing important, he scoffed, turning back to the moon.

The sound of a muzzle snuffling the downstairs floor had his head turned up again. Dog, the scent said… but Dog and Rat? Together, odd, then odder, Stag?

* * *

He woke up, waiting for the pain to settle in, for the random tooth or claw mark to begin bleeding…

But he didn't smell the coppery taint of blood, and after a while realized that he hadn't bitten himself this time…

But why? He shifted, bumping into the warm body beside him.

"Oh, sorry Sirius…" the dog sniffed still asleep, but nuzzled closer to Remus, he was warm.

Remus took a minute to locate each of his friends. Peter slept as deeply as a Rat as he did a human, snoring as loud as his little lungs would let him. Only James had transformed back into a teenage boy, and he was wide awake, watching the others.

As Remus came to full consciousness he realized that everything he just saw was _wrong_.

"James…" he whimpered, crossed his arms over his naked chest and started shivering, horribly shivering. He could have hurt them… bitten them… turned them into… into _him_… tears started falling as his head started shaking back and forth.

"No… no, you can't… you can't know… nobody- nobody can!" he protested as James crossed the room and held the smaller boy to his chest. He cryed out; beating against James with curled fists, weakly demanding that the impudent, horribly self-centered, irritating, wonderful friend let him go.

Then another set of arms was around him, black hair in his face as Sirius rocked him back and forth. The two surrounded him, cocooned him in their arms, and waited for the damn to break. The tears that soaked their shirts were like rain, washing away all the lies he'd told them. At first they'd been pissed, but as they worked out their ingenious plan they really started watching their room mate.

They thought they'd cared enough when they started to do anything to help him. But as they watched, they saw that they had to do it, not only because he was in the same room as them, but because Remus NEEDED them. He needed them in the way that a child needs something besides sweets. Only opposite, they figured, because he had been a grown-up when they'd met him on the train, and he needed to be a kid.

So they were Remus's vegetables. Of course, explaining it all to Peter had been a royal pain in the ass… but eventually they just told him that they needed to do it. For Remus. And that had been their battle cry.

Sneaking around a collecting potions ingredients, chanting at odd hours of the night, finding their "spirit animals", then actually doing the damned spell, had kept them so busy that for three months straight the Slytherins didn't have any problems getting into their dorm or eating things that made their hair turn odd colors. Three months of not tormenting Snivellus, and all "For Remus".

But while they were doing all of this "For Remus", they had never thought of what the werewolves reaction would be. Curled up against himself and crying while they tried their best to smother his fear in their arms had not even occurred to them.

"Remus…"

"You don't understand! I could hurt you!" he cried, his fingers curling into James shirt, his, face against Sirius's.

"No! Werewolves don't hurt other animals," James insisted.

"I could have bit you by accident! You stupid idiots!" He cried out, pushing away, stumbling to his feet, to the loose plank in the floor that held his over night bag, and his pants.

"You wouldn't bite us Remus…" Sirius scoffed as Remus shoved his feet in his slacks.

"I wouldn't Sirius! That says shit about Moony!"

* * *

_Mr. Padfoot would like Professor Jenkins to know that his bald head reflects the candle light something awful, and would recommend a wig of some kind to avoid blinding future students. _

_Mr. Wormtail would like Professor Jenkins to hold his breath and count to twelve thousand… slowly._

_Mr. Moony believes Professor Jenkins would do well in a managerial position for a toilet cleaning company… At least then he wouldn't have to worry about inflicting his personal hygiene on people with sensitive noses. _

_Mr. Prongs agrees with all of the above, and would like to add that Professor Jenkins can kiss his hairy behind… if he could ever catch it that is. _

_Messr's Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail and Prongs invite Professor Jenkins to unlock their secrets… when they're good and ready to give them up_.

* * *

"Why do we have a different DADA teacher every year?"

"I think we gave that last one an aneurism."

"Oh."

yeah, and i thought about putting more in... but i really liked those snap shots. in case you couldn't tell, each one (that is not an obvious continuation of the last one) has about a year, more or less, in between it. so when they figure out how to change they are fourteen, and the last part is when they are fifteen. i think that's cannon... if it isn't then whatever, i'm too tired to care... luv ya'll, hope you enjoyed!


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